Purple Haze
by Request
Summary: AU GamKar. Life seems to change every time I take a breath. Maybe if I breathe in something other than air, things will be okay for just a little while longer. Dependance, addiction, loss, desperation, loneliness. Rating will probably go up in later chapters.


When I was sixteen, I got kicked out of my house. So I moved out of home into the cheapest apartment I could afford, on account of the fact I was working a demeaning job at the grocery store in this asswipe of a town. I hope you can sense my absolute repulsion of this place. It really is the lowest of the low. Anyway, I moved in, unpacked my pathetic excuse of a life out of a couple of cardboard boxes and into my new place. It was pretty cramped, and smelt kinda mouldy, but it was a place to call my own.

I guess most kids don't live on their own at 16, but then again, I'm not most kids. I'm Karkat fucking Vantas, and I'm anything but normal. People say I'm trouble, and that can be true. I just refuse to get walked all over. Everyone seems to think that because I'm small, and because I'm dirt poor and because I smell like a homeless mans armpits, that they can treat me like crap. But I tend not to take that too well. I have a bit of a temper on me.

So I scoped out my space. The tiny bathroom, the kitchen and living room area, the unidentifiable stain on the carpet… Urgh okay, maybe that is identifiable. Not so pleasant. I set the small collection of my possessions on the kitchen counter and stared at the space. What the hell was I supposed to do with an empty house? It's not like there was a fridge to raid, or a TV to watch, or even a couch to sit on. My whole life was packed into two little cardboard boxes. I had never been so scared in my life. I had nothing. I was nothing. I could have slipped between the cracks and no one would have even noticed. I hated my pathetic existence. So a session of severe self-loathing followed by wallowing in self-pity was definitely in order.

After I was done with that, I got up and wandered around some more. I needed to think of an activity to do. I didn't really know anyone, and I didn't have any places to be, so I settled on 'standing outside the building looking hopefully at people walking past and maybe they'll take pity on you and say hello or mistake you for a homeless man and buy you lunch'. Once I had decided my plan, I set off with new determination (albeit with the most sour expression I could manage) to go make friends… or something. I slipped my keys in my pocket and hurried through my door, down the stairs and exited the building. The heavy door clicked shut, and locked itself. I was glad for the extra security. This part of town was particularly shady.

Speaking of shady characters, there happened to be one right beside me. Dressed all in black, wild chocolate brown curls fall loosely around his gaunt face. His back was curved the way he was standing. The sort of guy you know would be really tall if he just stood up straight. I give him a little scowl.

"Hey, little guy," This guy slurred in a sort of sleepy way. "I was gonna be cheap and bum a smoke from you, but with the way you look, you could do with a bit of motherfuckin' charity yourself." He had the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. As he turned towards me, I noticed a couple of tattoos on his shoulders. I probably should have started to feel a little intimidated by this somewhat hardcore looking guy, but he seemed to exude a pretty relaxed vibe.

"Fuck off," I replied hastily. "I don't need your charity." He seemed to disregard the venom in my words completely, and continued smiling. It was lucky, because I really did want that smoke.

So he throws me the packet of cigarettes, and I pull one out and take out the lighter that always happens to be in my pocket for some unexplained reason. I fumble with it a bit until it's lit and take a shallow drag. He shoots me this little half-smile thing and I'm suddenly really self-conscious.

It felt nice to be actually talking to someone after spending so long alone. I really didn't want to fuck up my first chance at actually hanging out with someone who isn't a total fuckwit… Okay, so I'm not basing that off much, but hey, the guy offers me free smokes, he's in my good books forever.

"I haven't seen you all up and around here before," He stumbled, "you must be a new motherfucker."

Inhale.

"Yeah. Moved in this morning."

Exhale.

"Ahh. I'm Gamzee by the way." His smile seemes to get impossibly larger. "Welcome to hell. Looks to me like you'll fit in just perfectly."

He chuckles a little to himself while I scowl and throw him dirty looks. So much for a fucking welcome party. I watch him take a long drag of his own cigarette and savour it. I don't think I have ever seen anyone enjoy smoking as much as this guy. After another drag of my own, I notice that they are rough as fuck and taste like shit. I feel like coughing my guts up like a asthmatic fat kid running a marathon. But instead I suppress my cough like a real fucking man and do the awkward little throat clearing noise instead.

He seems far too occupied enjoying his, and not acting like a total idiot. We stand smoking in silence for a bit until I'm done with it and flick the butt onto the sidewalk. The hot ash flickers, smouldering into the rest of the grime that surrounds it. He joins me quickly and I'm about to head up the stairs to get away from the silent tension (I'm pretty sure I was the only one feeling it though. He seemed pretty fucking content). He pipes up again.

"Oh c'mon little dude, let me give you give you the grand motherfuckin' tour of this place. It's all kinds of crazy around here. "

He grabs me by the wrist and I sigh, but suppress a smile. I'm secretly really glad to have someone to talk to and something to fill up my otherwise completely empty life.

He shows me the little patch of grass out the back of the building (supposedly a collective 'backyard'), and the derelict park (only five minutes away from drunken homeless guys. Just what I always wanted) and the rooftop (what a beautiful view of busted down old houses and factory smog) and lastly, he shows me to his room.

We stand at the door of his room, which is only a flight of stairs and short walk from mine.

"And this here," he breathes with wicked delight "is where all the miracles happen."

I won't lie. When I walked in, I was surprised to see his place was fully furnished and actually had a decent sized TV. I half expected this guy to be living the same way as me, in a house full to the fucking brim with jack shit. How the hell did he scrape up enough money for a proper microwave? And I think that's an actual couch. There did seem to be a lot of crap lying around though; empty pizza boxes, bottles of Faygo and a few stray Sour Worms littered the floor.

"It's not much, but it's home." He adds, kicking a few bottles aside to make some space for me to walk though. He threw himself onto the couch and beckoned for me to come sit by him.

I nearly stack it on a half empty bowl of soggy cereal on my way there, but I arrive next to him in one piece.

He turns on the TV and shoots me this goofy grin. "It's been ages since I met anyone here I liked." He mumbles, as his heavy lidded eyes blink slowly. "I think you and I are gonna be wicked best friends."

I give him a disapproving sort of half smile. I think, no matter how crazy this fuckwit is, at least I have someone to talk to.

After about an hour of watching mindless television, he turns to me with the most awake look he has given me so far.

"Hey little man," he purrs in his deep voice. "I think it's about time for me to up and get my green on. You wanna join me for a mad motherfucking sesh?"

I look at him curiously.

"Do you want to smoke weed, bro?" He clarifies.

Oh. Suddenly it all seems to make sense. The sleepy smiles, the heavy lids, the messy house. He must be the biggest fucking pothead in the world, and I must be the biggest fucking idiot to not have noticed.

I consider his proposition for a while. While I think it over, I watch him walk over to a cupboard and pull out a glass bong. Panic rises within me. I have no idea how to even use a bong. I'll have no idea how to hold it or do whatever the fuck you do with it, and he'll look at me and be all disapproving and think I'm some straight edge loser trying to be cool to impress him. But failing. I don't want him to think I'm trying to impress him because then I look like the stupid dorky new kid… FUCK. Okay, rather look like a straight edge than a stupid clingy loser trying to prove himself. I'll play the high and mighty moral card.

"No! You fuckwit! I blurt out. "Why the fuck would I want to do that?"

He barely has time to comprehend what I've said before I scramble off the couch, throw off the jacket he'd let me borrow and bolt out the door. No fucking way am I going to let the cool, older, more badass guy who actually has a fucking home, and a couch and at TV and a fridge with food in it think that I'm below him. Because I'm fucking not…

Right?

I run down the staircase and through the hallway and mash my keys into the lock. It's only when I'm inside my apartment, back against the door, out of breath, do I consider what I've done. I don't even know why I'm running, or what I'm trying to get away from.

I slide my back down the door until I'm on the floor and bring my knees up to my chest. I am the biggest idiot in the world. Granted, I did only have about 10 seconds to decide what to do, but SERIOUSLY why did I think running off would be a good idea? Now the only person I know here, who potentially could have been a friend or something, probably hates my guts because he thinks I'm like 'anti-drugs' or whatever. I mean, by the looks of him, smoking weed is his entire life, and I pretty much just told him he was a fuckwit for it. Yup, I'm a cocknugget.

It's getting kinda late, and I know I'm going to feel fucking guilty as shit for ruining my chances at a social life, so I figure I might as well do the whole 'attempt sleep' thing. I know it's going to fail. I mean, come on, I don't even have a bed. So I sit huddled in my own little ball of self loathing, and pull out the packet of cigarettes the guy had given me before. I light one up, and immediately regret it. I don't know how I had forgotten how bad they are. I'm pretty sure this is the stuff they smoke in prison. I don't particularly want to smoke it, so instead I stare at it for a bit, watching it burn out, and taking a drag every now and then so I can't beat myself up for wasting precious resources (no matter how crappy quality they are).

As it slowly burns to the end, I get up and take it to the bathroom. No use trying to put the thing out on the carpet. I snub out the flame on the cracked, shabby looking ceramic sink and look up to the mirror. I'm pretty fucking ugly. I've got these giant fucking bags under my eyes from lack of sleep, my hair is tufty and sticks out in weird directions and somehow ends up all over my face. I can't even say I have nice eyes. They're just this gross greyish colour. There is no way anyone would ever find me the least bit attractive. At least I've got… oh that's right. I have: no family, no real friends, no possessions, no good looks, no charm, no intellect, no future.

Fuck, I hate myself. I bite my lip. My throat is all tense and is starting to hurt. My eyes begin to sting.

"Don't you dare fucking cry," I say to the mirror. "Only stupid wimpy loser douchbag fuckwipes do."

I close my eyes. I don't want to look at myself anymore. I'm starting to get hungry and the tiles are really cold on my feet. I concentrate on the tiny insect that is flying around the uncovered light bulb above me. I count the cracks in the ceiling.

Inhale.

I feel wetness on my cheek.

Exhale.


End file.
